


down the mountain runs

by blackkat



Series: TobiObi Drabbles [2]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Dimension Travel, Fix-It, Humor, Kamui - Freeform, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-09-07
Packaged: 2020-10-11 20:14:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20552051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/pseuds/blackkat
Summary: “I can't stop,” Tobirama protests, but he shrugs on the yukata and slides down with a sigh that sounds like relief. Pauses, eyes snapping open again, and rolls up. “I forgot to record the seal variation as it applies to a shorter stay in the pocket dimension—”Obito catches his shoulder and hauls him back down as he settles on the far edge of the futon. “Yeah, no, your solution to keeping me in the Senju Clan was afake relationship, you're not messing around with any seals involving Kamui right now. Go the fuck to sleep.”





	down the mountain runs

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt: Tobirama somehow manages to mess up his first Hiraishin use so spectacularly he ends up in Kamui realm in the middle of Kakashi and Obito's battle, or just when Obito is sorting through all the absolute crap Bakashi dumps in there on the regular (the amount of broken dog toys is kind of ridiculous)?

“_Fuck you_, Bakashi!” Obito hisses the third time he trips over a half-gnawed stick and almost face-plants in an empty dog food bag. “This isn't a fucking garbage dump!”

Of course, in the middle of Kamui, there’s no one to hear his entirely justified complaints, and Obito snarls under his breath and shoves a collection of disgustingly crusty dog food cans into a more manageable pile. For a moment, he debates shoving all the shit over the side of one of the pillars, but—

Visions rise of piles of garbage rising up from the depthless dark, drowning the entire dimension in trash because Kakashi is _too lazy to pick up his shit_. Obito can't handle that. He’d rather dump it all back in Kakashi’s lap and force him to actually go through all the crap and separate and recycle everything, but that would probably be too much of a giveaway as to his continued existence. _Unfortunately_.

Muttering curses, because _he_ keeps his shit in here in a nice tidy pile on one of the smaller pillars, Obito crouches down and pulls a face at the pile. Then, with an aggrieved sigh and a silent promise to put dye in Kakashi’s shampoo—he can frame Anko, and she’ll be more than happy to take the credit for it even if she wasn’t involved—he starts digging through the trash, sorting things out into heaps that he can deal with better. Most of it looks like broken dog toys, but there are more than a few molding takeout containers in the mix, and Obito grimaces.

“How the hell can you _live_ like this, Bakashi?” he mutters, and spares half a second to wish desperately for his gloves, abandoned back at the base. He’d been _planning_ to go to Kiri and start working on Yagura, seeing whether he could catch the Mizukage in a genjutsu and if so how much control he could exert, but stepping right into a trash dump when he entered Kamui was an unpleasant surprise.

Apparently Bakashi cleaned his apartment, Obito thinks, unamused, and holds up a—

Oh _fuck_ no_._

With a yelp, Obito drops the condom—torn, but not used, thank _fucking_ hell—and recoils, wiping his hand on his pants like he can scrub off even the _thought_ of Kakashi having sex. He’s been watching enough to know that it’s probably that one ANBU with the Mokuton, and that is already _far_ too much information to have.

“I'm going to cave your fucking skull in,” Obito hisses. “We are _sharing _this fucking dimension, I am the one who _gave_ you that goddamn eye, so show your fucking gratitude and _don’t use it as a trash bin_.”

A step, deliberately audible, and a voice says, “I had wondered at the refuse heap.”

Obito stiffens, wrenches around. His mask is still on his belt, but it’s too late to grab for it, too late to hide. He lashes out, kunai in hand, but pale fingers catch his wrist in a blur of speed, spin him, wrench his arm up behind him in one brutal jerk. Obito loses his breath on a yelp as he’s slammed face-first into the side of the squared-off pillar, a body pinning him easily, and then _snarls_.

There’s an unimpressed snort from over his shoulder, and the man says, “You are not the one who brought me here, I assume.”

The surge of adrenaline is easing, evening out. Obito breathes, tries to think logically; there’s a stranger in his dimension, someone who _definitely_ can't have Kamui, because he checked on Kakashi just yesterday and he still had his Sharingan in place. Even Madara had never heard of Kamui before Obito manifested it, so the odds of someone else having a similar ability are close to zero.

“You’d assume rightly,” he bites out, tugging at the stranger’s hold.

There’s a pause, and then the grip on him eases, the stranger stepping back. Instantly, Obito lurches upright, spins—

Stops short, because the man behind him is one whose face is carved into the Hokage Mountain, the man who _died_ decades ago, the man who’s responsible for the Police Force and the Academy and the Chuunin Exams. The man who Madara railed about more than any other, in the time he had Obito as a captive audience.

Obito swallows, takes a step back. “Nidaime-sama,” he says, and can't quite manage to make it into the insult he intends it to be.

Tobirama frowns at him, confusion clear on his face. He’s out of armor, not even wearing his happuri faceguard, and he looks—young. Maybe Obito's age, and Obito only turned twenty a handful of days ago.

“Nidaime?” he asks. “Second of what?”

Obito freezes, trying to think. A young Tobirama, here where no one is supposed to be able to reach. “I—how did you get here?” he demands.

Tobirama blinks, then raises a brow at him. “My first experiment with a new jutsu,” he says, as though it should be obvious. “And you? What is an Uchiha doing in the same place my Hiraishin emerged?”

“It’s _my_ dimension,” Obito says waspishly. Pauses, and—Hiraishin. Minato used that, didn’t he? And being moved with it always felt like stepping somewhere dark before reemerging in the light.

“They share a dimension,” he realizes, and looks up. Tobirama is watching him narrowly, but Obito meets his eyes, startled by the realization. “I—this place, it’s in between. I thought it was just for Kamui, though.”

Thoughtfulness shades across Tobirama’s face, and he frowns, lifting the kunai he’s holding. Obito stiffens, but Tobirama simply inspects the seal inked onto the handle. “Logical,” he agrees. “Kamui is your version of the Mangekyō, then?” When Obito nods cautiously, he hums. “Fascinating. Your eye creates a doorway, and my Hiraishin was _intended_ to use a similar slingshot effect to increase my speed as it pulled me through another dimension to eject me on the other side. Perhaps I miscalculated on the length of time required to build momentum in this dimension. Or I simply did not use enough—greater momentum would launch me through his dimension before it could catch me in its pull.”

Obito eyes Tobirama for a long moment, and— “How much sleep have you had in the past week?” he asks warily, because people talking about ejecting themselves or launching themselves is always suspect. Minato got like that too, sometimes.

Tobirama blinks, like he’s coming back to reality. “Sleep?” he says scornfully. “I had a breakthrough on trans-dimensional time and space ninjutsu, I wasn’t about to _sleep_.”

Time and space. Yeah, that’s what Obito was thinking. Because if Tobirama is still miscalculating on how to use the Flying Thunder God technique, it definitely isn't the streamlined, refined version Minato taught himself. Somehow, some way, Tobirama managed to launch himself through the time stream and right into the Kamui dimension.

Privately, Obito revises his estimate on how long it’s been since Tobirama slept.

“You know me,” Tobirama says suddenly, like he’s just realized, and when Obito gives him a wary look, he finds Tobirama staring at him with narrowed eyes. “You recognized me, but I have never seen you on a battlefield before.”

Obito considers his answers, weighs the possible responses. The Uchiha Clan as a whole doubtless know of Tobirama, but—the Tobirama in armor, in the middle of a fight. Obito could try to play it off, could lead Tobirama into thinking he’s just another Uchiha from the Clan Wars era, but—

_But_, a little voice whispers in his head. _But everything started with the founding of Konoha. Everything that went wrong was because no one could stop the wars, because no one could _change_ things._

Tobirama singlehandedly built up Konoha's economy, its security, its infrastructure. Madara may have hated him with every last inch of his soul, but even he could admit that Tobirama was a clever man. Cold, ruthless, but—

That might be just what’s necessary, to stop everything before it starts.

“You know Uchiha Izuna?” he asks, and it’s hard to get the words out through the sudden, terrible surge of _hope_. Not Madara's plan, not the Eye of the Moon and an eternal dream, but that’s fine. Obito doesn’t care, as long as there’s peace. And surely, _surely_ making sure peace is built into Konoha's structure from before even the first stone is laid will serve everyone better in the end.

A dream is just a dream, after all. But if Obito can go back in time, if he can stop everything _before_ it starts, then Rin will be born into a world that’s already at peace. This won't just be creating a world where she wouldn’t have _had_ to die, this will be the creation of a world where she _doesn’t_ have to die. Where no child does.

Tobirama’s eyes narrow, nostrils flaring. “Of course,” he says, disdainful. “He is second to your clan’s leader, and an eternal thorn in my backside.”

Obito laughs before he can help it, unpracticed, startled. One thing to hear Madara talk about his saintly younger brother, killed by Senju treachery. Another entirely to hear Tobirama do it, and—Obito would suspect that Tobirama’s assessment is probably closer to the truth.

Madara was always stuck in the mentality of the Clan Wars, with Konoha standing in for the Senju, with the Uchiha on the losing side, persecuted and victimized. But Obito grew up with the Uchiha as the Police Force, with a whole clan who only wanted to look down their noses at him because of his mixed blood and his lack of Sharingan, and Obito knows far better than Madara just what assholes their clan can be. He hates them more than he’s ever had cause to hate the Senju, and the choice to side with them, even after all of Madara's diatribes against them and Tobirama in particular, is an easy thing.

“He’s almost a hundred years dead, in my time,” Obito says quietly, and watches Tobirama’s eyes widen, how shock flickers bright and sharp across his face. “You kill him when you're twenty-four.”

“Nidaime,” Tobirama repeats, like he’s finally realizing what he means, and looks at Obito with disbelief. “My brother’s village—he succeeds? he builds it?”

Obito has to swallow. That tone—it’s hope, something tired but desperate, full of buried longing. Not a warmonger’s calculation, but a soldier who wants a place for peace.

He should probably learn to stop trusting Madara's assessment of people already, Obito thinks.

“Yes,” he says quietly. “But—things aren’t going well. The wars won't _stop_.” His voice cracks, despite his attempt at control, and Obito has to jerk away, look at the blank wall for a long moment to get himself under control.

There's a long, long pause, and then a quiet step. Obito flinches when cool fingers brush the scars on his right side, and Tobirama stops, but doesn’t draw away.

“From a war?” he asks quietly.

Obito laughs, and this time there's nothing of humor in it. “The Third Shinobi World War,” he says bitterly, and Tobirama’s breath stutters to a halt. “My teacher—my teacher killed a thousand men in one battle, once. And even that didn’t make the fighting stop. There’s going to be another, too. Someday, there will be a Fourth World War, and _more_ people will die, and I can’t—”

Tobirama steps around in front of him, and his eyes are cold, burning, _furious_. “Tell me,” he says, a command. “Tell me how to stop it, and I will.”

Obito holds his gaze, aching, empty, and says, “How about I show you?”

For a moment, Tobirama doesn’t move. Then, carefully, he tips his head, considering. “Take you with me,” he says, testing. “Hiraishin will carry me out, and if I attach my chakra to you, it will bring you along. So that is certainly plausible. But I assume you will not want to go back to the Uchiha Clan, once we are there.”

With a bitter laugh, Obito leans back against the pillar, not quite wrapping his arms around himself, but—it’s closer than he’d like. “I’m only half Uchiha,” he says grimly. “They wouldn’t take me even if I _did_ go to them.”

Good enough to be a weapon. Good enough to be a pawn, or a soldier, but never one of them. Obito breathes through the rage that rises like a living thing in his chest, and—

A hand, curled around his elbow. Cool to the touch, but firm, and when Obito opens his eyes it’s to the sight of Tobirama right in front of him, frowning.

“They are fools, then,” Tobirama says flatly. He looks Obito over for a long moment, then nods once, like he’s come to a decision. “My brother will accept you,” he says. “Among the Senju, blood is less important than loyalty. And we shall give him a reason to believe in your loyalty.”

“We will?” Obito asks warily.

Tobirama smirks at him. “Indeed. Because he will walk in on us in bed together.”

Obito chokes.

“_What_?” he yelps. “Are you _insane_?”

Tobirama ignores that. “He’s long suspected me of having a secret lover, because he is an idiot romantic. So when he comes to drag me out of my lab, he’ll find us, and then he will extend the invitation for you to stay in the Senju compound of his own free will.”

“I think that _manipulating him_ keeps it from being free will,” Obito says dubiously.

Tobirama ignores that, too. “Hashirama will be _overjoyed_ that I have taken a lover, particularly one who is partly Uchiha.” He wrinkles his nose faintly. “He will most definitely be overbearing, so you had best prepare yourself.”

“This is stupid,” Obito tells him. “I thought you were a _genius_. No one is going to fall for this.”

“Hashirama will,” Tobirama says with perfect certainty. “And if he believes it, so will the rest of the clan.”

Obito stares at him, not entirely sure what to say to that. “I—you had better be right about this,” he warns. “Or I get to kick your ass.”

Tobirama’s smirk is a dare. “You are welcome to try,” he says, and pulls Obito a step closer. “You have knowledge of what went wrong in the village and led to the wars?”

_Madara_, Obito wants to say, but that’s probably a little unfair. “Just don’t kill Izuna,” he says instead. “And that will be a good start.”

“He tries equally hard to kill me every time we meet,” Tobirama says indignantly. “We are at _war_.”

Obito raises his hands, fending off the argument. “But you're better,” he says. “Obviously.”

There's a moment of startled silence, and when Obito looks up Tobirama is watching him thoughtfully, head tilted. After a long minute, he offers Obito a hand and asks, “Are you ready?”

Obito casts one last look around the dimension, then pauses, smiling wickedly. “Just one more thing,” he says, and the air warps. Kakashi’s garbage piles are sucked up into the portal, and it’s the work of a thought to eject them out the other side, right into Kakashi’s bedroom. Through the twisting air, Obito can just make out the sight of Kakashi bolting upright, porn book tumbling off his face, only to be promptly buried under a mountain of trash.

“_Ha_,” he mutters, and then sets his hand in Tobirama’s. “_Now_ I'm ready.”

Tobirama’s chuckle is quiet, but he wraps an arm around Obito's waist and levels the Hiraishin kunai in front of them. “Hold on.”

It feels nothing like Kamui. There’s no twist, just a sharp wrench at the center of Obito's chest, and then light. They land in a bright room, tables pushed back along the walls and huge versions of the Hiraishin seal painted over the floor. The touchdown is light, but Tobirama still staggers slightly, and his eyes go glassy as he forces himself straight.

Obito catches him, because he’s very clearly about to fall on his ass. “_How_ long has it been since you slept?” he asks.

Tobirama blinks rapidly. “I don’t know what day this is,” he says with dignity, “so I can't say for certain.”

“Great,” Obito mutters, and slings Tobirama’s arm over his shoulder. “Bed?”

A vague jab of Tobirama’s finger indicates a door near the far wall. “The third room down,” he says, and Obito sighs and aims them that way.

“This had better be worth it,” he mutters, but—

It will be. He already knows that. This is the chance to _really_ change things, from the ground up, and create a better world that doesn’t have to be a dream to be good.

The futon in Tobirama’s bedroom is still unrolled, blankets mussed, but Tobirama doesn’t seem to care as he all but collapses onto it. “Clothes off,” he says, and that’s unfortunately more coherent. He’s more coordinated as he strips out of his own shirt, too, and Obito has to quickly look away to keep his cheeks from heating. “Hashirama is an idiot, but he is not _entirely_ stupid.”

Obito snorts, then grits his teeth and pulls his shirt over his head in one sharp movement. “The scars go all the way down,” he warns, not looking at Tobirama. “Are you sure—”

A hand splays over his ribs, making the words judder to a halt in his throat. “You are a survivor,” Tobirama says quietly, and then lets go, watching with strangely intent eyes as Obito drops his pants to the floor. “There are yukatas for sleeping in the closet. I will take the blue one.” Then he pauses, and smirks. “No, you take the blue one. It is my favorite.”

Obito rolls his eyes, ignoring the heat creeping up his cheeks, and crosses to the closet. There’s only one blue yukata, so he takes it, and tosses a brown one at Tobirama’s head. “Aren’t you about to pass out from sleep deprivation? Stop _plotting_.”

“I can't _stop_,” Tobirama protests, but he shrugs on the yukata and slides down with a sigh that sounds like relief. Pauses, eyes snapping open again, and rolls up. “I forgot to record the seal variation as it applies to a shorter stay in the pocket dimension—”

Obito catches his shoulder and hauls him back down as he settles on the far edge of the futon. “Yeah, no, your solution to keeping me in the Senju Clan was a _fake relationship_, you're not messing around with any seals involving Kamui right now. Go the fuck to sleep.”

Tobirama’s sniff sounds entirely miffed, but he settles back against the pillow. “Lie down. I won't _bite_,” he tells Obito pointedly, and then smirks. “Only when requested.”

“Fuck you,” Obito snaps, ears hot, but he does as Tobirama tells him and stubbornly closes his eyes. “This had _really_ better be worth it.”

“For peace?” Tobirama asks quietly, and fingers brush Obito's scarred cheek. “If you really come from the village my brother will found, and if something went wrong that can be fixed—”

“It can,” Obito says, opening his eyes to catch Tobirama’s gaze, and he isn't sure if the feeling in his chest is certainty or desperation. “We can fix it. We _have to_—”

“We will,” Tobirama says quietly, and Obito finds that he can't say a single thing more.

The clatter of the bedroom door sliding open with a hard push wakes Obito from a blessedly dreamless sleep, and he jerks, but can't move. Panic rises, half an instant of pure bewilderment, and—

There's warmth along his back, curled around him, an arm over his waist and a leg between his. Sometime in the night he and Tobirama must have gotten tangled, must have _cuddled_, because right now the future Nidaime’s weight is on top of him and it’s _warm_ in a way Obito hasn’t been in almost a decade. He freezes, feels a disgusted huff against the nape of his neck, and stays very, very still as Tobirama lifts his head and growls, “Anija, _what_?”

Long, stretching silence. “Tobirama?” a man asks, and­—it has to be Hashirama. The Shodai. The only man to ever face Madara on equal footing and _beat him_. Obito is _in bed_ with Hashirama’s little brother, and of all the ways to die, this is probably one of the least dignified.

With a grumpy sound, Tobirama curls more tightly around Obito, and says pointedly, “_Go away_, Anija. Unless the Uchiha are currently attacking, I don’t care.”

There's a choked sound that’s possibly joy. “Tobirama,” Hashirama says brightly. “You have a _boyfriend_?”

Tobirama groans disgustedly, but pushes up on one elbow. A finger pokes Obito hard in the ribs, and Tobirama says, “I do, and we were _sleeping_.”

Warily, Obito opens his eyes, and gets a direct line of sight to the future Shodai’s face as his eyes widen, expression going slack with shock for an instant before luminescent joy suffuses his whole face.

“Tobirama,” he says delightedly, “you're dating an _Uchiha_?”

“_What_,” a loud voice says, and a woman pokes her head through the doorway. Dark-haired, older, with her hair twisted up in a tight knot, and she stares at Obito for an endless moment, then looks at Tobirama. Her incredulous stare says everything.

With another groan, Tobirama flops back onto the pillows, hooking an arm over Obito's chest and pulling him back against him more firmly. “Is there an attack?” he asks pointedly.

“No,” Hashirama says, still beaming. “There isn't.”

Tobirama grunts, apparently satisfied. “Then I plan to sleep for at _least_ another twelve hours,” he says grumpily. “Go away. I will introduce you _later_.”

“All right, all right,” Hashirama says with a laugh, raising his hands, and he backs out of the room. “Sleep well.”

“No, wait, _what_,” the woman says, but Hashirama closes the door before she can demand any more information.

Obito waits until their footsteps have faded completely, then goes to sit up, and finds he can't. Tobirama is still a dead weight sprawled halfway on top of him, and he doesn’t appear to be in any hurry to move.

“Really?” Obito demands. “Twelve more hours?”

Tobirama huffs. “A lie,” he says without shame. “I will sleep six more, and then _you_ will tell me everything you know about the political situation in Hashirama’s future village.”

That’s at least mildly more sensible. Obito blows out an aggrieved breath, but—Tobirama is warm, and it’s not entirely objectionable to be stuck in bed for a few more hours. Obito hasn’t allowed himself that sort of luxury since he was a genin.

“Konohagakure,” he says. “That’s the village. Konoha.”

There's a breath against his skin, slow, warm, and the arm around him tightens faintly. Obito can feel the beat of Tobirama’s heart through the thin cloth separating them, and has to close his eyes and swallow hard. He doesn’t think he’s ever been this close to another person in his life.

“Konoha,” Tobirama repeats softly. “A good name.”

Obito closes his eyes. thinks of Madara in the darkness, the training Obito endured. The pain, and the cold, and the way Rin's cooling body felt in his arms beneath that red moon. If he can stop that, if that never has to happen and peace can exist—

“Yeah,” he agrees roughly. “It will be.”


End file.
